


Pretty in Pink

by Ritual_Union



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Metamorphmagus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 05:12:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12005742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ritual_Union/pseuds/Ritual_Union
Summary: Harry was breathless; his hands shook as they held onto the cloak around him and he didn’t think Draco could look any more beautiful--his hair interchanging between pink and rose-gold, glowing in the light of the sun, which had moved over to where he was sitting.





	Pretty in Pink

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a Tumblr prompt: Draco being a metamorphmagus and his hair gets pink around Harry.

The first time that it happened Harry had been furious. After all that they had gone through together to get to this point--being partnered at the start of 8th year for a year-long DADA project, reluctantly coming together to the library to study, slowly learning that they had similar goals and interests, that Draco Malfoy wasn’t as bad as Harry had once thought...that Draco was turning into the most intriguing person that Harry had ever met--Harry had really begun to believe that Draco had changed. 

When the news started going around the school that Harry was seeing Christopher, a 7th year Ravenclaw, news that Christopher  _ himself  _ had spread around gleefully, Harry felt he could turn to the one person that had suffered through public criticism as much as he had: Draco. 

He had hurried to their usual study spot, a hidden alcove with prime view of the Quidditch pitch, blond hair coming into view, Harry’s heart beat quickening for some inexplicable reason. But then Draco had looked up, silver gaze meeting his, momentarily freezing him in his tracks just a few feet away. 

“Harry.” 

“Hey, I was--” Harry started and stopped, his eyes traveling to the top of Draco’s head, to the platinum blond hair, to the roots where his hair was slowly turning to various shades of pink. Harry’s heart sank horribly and his anger started to boil to the surface. Is that all it took? A story about him and another male student? A male student whom he had only gone out with once, who had taken advantage of Harry’s feelings and bragged about them as though Harry were something to be shown off? Did Draco really have to rub salt in his wound by turning his stupid hair  _ pink _ ?

“You wanker,” was all Harry could manage, his face warm with humiliation before he turned on his heel and stormed off, tucking his shaking hands into the pockets of his trousers. 

What made it worse was that Harry had given Draco plenty of opportunities to explain himself. Maybe it had just been a misunderstanding. Maybe his metamorphmagus powers had gotten out of control for a second. Draco couldn’t be blamed for that; it was a part of him. But every single time that Draco started walking his way, or if Harry would get too close, the shiny blond hair would begin to color. Shades of pink starting from the roots and Harry would turn away, not bothering with a second glance. Eventually, Draco just stopped trying and Harry was left wondering where he’d made a mistake. 

It was during a particularly bright, sunny Saturday afternoon, when all the other 8th years were spending some much needed time away at Hogsmeade that Harry had decided to stay in. He didn’t much fancy being out in public in broad daylight, where people could openly stare him up and down, studying him closely and, for those few shameless people, ask him questions that were far too intrusive to be comfortable. No, he would much rather stay in and catch up on some rest.

He was just dozing off in his four poster bed when a loud bang sounded and he bolted upright. Pansy Parkinson was standing in the doorway of his private room, wand out, the door just barely hanging on its hinges.

“Pansy, what the fu--”

“Listen here, Potter. I am sick and tired of you and Draco being complete pillocks when it’s so obvious to everyone what’s really going on!”

Harry could only stare, still in a bit of shock at being woken so suddenly. “What are you on about for Christ--? Fix my bloody door, would you?  _ Merlin _ .”

“Potter, you are many things, don’t make me add  _ blind tosser _ to that list as well,” Pansy said, lifting a hand to the bridge of her nose in exasperation. When Harry continued to stare wide-eyed at her outburst, Pansy huffed. “Just grab that bloody invisible cloak of yours and follow me.”

“My--what?” Harry furrowed his brows, wondering how in the world Pansy could know about his invisibility cloak. He decided to play it safe and feign confusion.

“Oh, don’t pull that innocent shite on me, Potter. Granger has told me all the stories of your late-night adventures. Seriously, all those years Draco was dying to catch you red handed, when you were probably right  under his nose the whole time.” Pansy shook her head. 

Harry continued to stare, wondering what the world has come to where Hermione and Pansy have begun exchanging personal stories. Thinking that this might be the worst thing he had ever done, he reached up toward his mokeskin pouch necklace that laid comfortably against his chest, and pulled out his invisibility cloak. He stood.

“Put the cloak on,” Pansy ordered, her eyes following the shimmery, flowy cloth in his hands. “And watch closely you utter twat.” She turned away from him and walked back out of his room. 

Despite the flare of injustice he felt toward Pansy and Hermione at that moment, Harry twirled the cloak over his head and followed her. He recognized where she was headed immediately and only the thought of her words, that there might be something else going on, kept him from turning back. She’d left the door open and Harry slowly walked in view of Draco’s room, pausing at the doorway. His stomach flipped. Draco was sitting on his armchair by the window, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, and a book laid unopened in his lap. He had his elbow on the arm of the chair, his chin resting in his hand. His hair was a mixture of his normal platinum-blond and slowly mixing into a dark brown before returning to its original state. Harry couldn’t look away.

“Rough day, darling?” Pansy asked him as she moved toward the bed to sit. 

Draco shrugged without turning to her. “What makes you say that?”

“You hate brown,” Pansy said as though this explained everything. “You only ever have brown hair when you’re having a shit day. And I’ve got to say, Draco, after seeing brown hair for the past few weeks, it _ really _ doesn’t suit you.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “I can’t help it, Pans. I can hardly walk around with a mirror in front of me to make sure my hair stays put. It doesn’t work that way.”

“I know, I know. You’ve said that enough times already over the years,” Pansy said soothingly. “If only everybody knew it doesn’t work that way…”

Draco frowned, finally turning toward her. “Why are you here, Pans? Shouldn’t you be off spreading good cheer all over Hogsmeade with your new best friend?”

Pansy pouted. “My new best friend is currently off snogging that long-limbed ginger. I can hardly spread good cheer with that clotpole hanging about...Besides, Potter isn’t there, so who would I spend my afternoon torturing?”

At the mention of him, Draco paused. Harry’s heartbeat quickened at the sight in front of him. Draco’s hair was turning lighter and lighter, the roots of his hair turning blonde. Harry’s eyes widened a little and he swears if Draco turned his head toward the light, he could spot some strands that had turned pink. 

“And where exactly would Ha-...would he be if he’s not at Hogsmeade?”

“Might be in his room. Want to go have a look? His door was unlocked when I passed through.”

Draco’s hair suddenly turned brown again. He sighed. “He doesn’t want to talk to me. He can hardly even look at me anymore.” Harry bit his lip, his heart constricting at how wrong those words were.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Pansy said. When Draco frowned at her she continued with a smirk, “He can’t stop staring at you, can he?”

“Don’t lie, Pans. I’m not in the mood.”

“It’s true, Draco. When you think he’s not looking,” she said, and waited for Draco to look at her again before continuing, “In the Great Hall during meals. In between classes when you walk ahead of him. During lessons when he’s not paying attention to a word the Professors are saying. Even down in the common room when everyone is playing Exploding Snap. He has this  _ look _ that I’ve only ever seen...well, on you. Honestly, it’s a bit creepy.”

With each thing that Pansy said, Draco’s hair turned lighter, the tips of his hair turning a rosy shade, the strands blending in different shades of pink. Harry was breathless; his hands shook as they held onto the cloak around him and he didn’t think Draco could look any more beautiful--his hair interchanging between pink and rose-gold, glowing in the light of the sun, which had moved over to where he was sitting. Harry barely registered when the cloak slipped from his fingers, falling to floor at his feet. Draco’s eyes widened, his silver gaze flicking up at Harry as he appeared, and he stood, the book that had been on his lap landing on the floor with a thud. 

“Harry.”

Harry didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to say sorry about having doubted Draco. He’d been so stupid, so worried that Draco had returned to his old self when nothing could have been further from the truth. Draco had been so good to him and they had grown so close in the last few months and it had been Harry who had thrown it so easily away. Draco continued to stare, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said finally. “I’m so sorry, Draco.”

Draco inhaled sharply. His hand came up to tuck a pale pink strand of hair behind his ear. He swallowed visibly again and shook his head. “Well, it’s not entirely your fault, Harry. We both could’ve done a better job at communicating, to be honest.” He gave Harry a tentative smile. Harry’s heart swelled and he smiled back. If it was possible, and most likely it was, Draco’s hair glowed.

Unable to hold back any longer, Harry closed the distance between them, walking up to Draco and sliding his hands through that impossibly soft hair, which was turning a more lovely rose-gold color at his touch, pressing their lips together in a warm embrace. Behind them, the door gently closed, leaving them together in the light of the afternoon sun.


End file.
